WHAT TOOK PLACE AT MOOSHANNE DURING THE STAY OF ETHELSTON IN GUADALOUPE.—DEPARTURE OF REGINALD FOR THE FAR–WEST.

While the events related in the last two chapters occurred at Guadaloupe, Reginald was busily employed at Mooshanne in completing the preparations for his projected visit to the Delawares, in the Far–west; he had (by putting in practice the instructions given him by War–Eagle respecting Nekimi) at length succeeded in gaining that noble animal’s affection; he neighed at Reginald’s approach, knew and obeyed his voice, fed from his hand, and received and returned his caresses, as he had before done those of his Indian master. It was when mounted on Nekimi that our hero found his spirit most exulting and buoyant; he gave him the rein on the broadest of the neighbouring prairies, and loved to feel the springy fleetness and untiring muscles of this child of the western desert. Sometimes, after a gallop of many miles, he would leap from the saddle, to look with pride and pleasure on the spirited eye, the full veins, the expanded nostril of his favourite; at other times he would ride him slowly through the most tangled and difficult ground, admiring the instinctive and unerring sagacity with which he picked his way.

Among Reginald’s other accomplishments, he had learnt in Germany to play not unskilfully on the horn; and constantly carrying his bugle across his shoulders, Nekimi grew so accustomed to the sound, that he would come to it from any distance within hearing of its call. It appeared to Reginald so probable that the bugle might render him good service on his summer excursion, that he not only practised his horse to it, but he prevailed on Baptiste to learn his various signals, and even to reply on another horn to some of the simplest of them. The honest guide’s first attempts to sound the bugle were ludicrous in the extreme; but he good–humouredly persevered, until Reginald and he could, from a considerable distance, exchange many useful signals agreed upon between them, and of course intelligible to none but themselves. Among these were the following: “Beware!”—“Come to me,”—“Be still,”—“Bring my horse,” and one or two others for hunting purposes, such as “A bear!”—“Buffalo!” To these they added a reply, which was always to signify “I understand.” But if the party called was prevented from obeying, this signal was to be varied accordingly.

At the same time Reginald did not omit to learn from the guide a number of Delaware words and phrases, in order that when he arrived among his new friends he might not be altogether excluded from communication with such of them as should not understand English; in these preparations, and occasional hunts in company with Baptiste, his time would have glided on agreeably enough, had he not observed with anxiety the settled melancholy that was gradually creeping over his sister Lucy. It was in vain that he strove to comfort her by reminding her of the thousand trifling accidents that might have detained Ethelston in the West Indies, and have prevented his letters from reaching home. She smiled upon him kindly for his well–meant endeavours, and not only abstained from all complaint, but tried to take her part in conversation; yet he saw plainly that her cheerfulness was forced, and that secret sorrow was at her heart. She employed herself assiduously in tending her mother, whose health had of late become exceedingly precarious, and who was almost always confined to her apartments. Lucy worked by her side, conversed with her, read to her, and did all in her power to hide from her the grief that possessed her own bosom. Reginald marked the struggle, which strengthened, if possible, the love that he had always felt for his exemplary and affectionate sister.

One day he was sitting with her in the boudoir, which commanded, as we have before observed, a view of the approach to the house, where they saw a horseman coming at full speed. As he drew near, he seemed to be a middle–aged man, wearing a broad–brimmed hat, a coarse over–coat, and loose trowsers; his knees were high up on the saddle, and he rode in so careless and reckless a manner, that it was marvellous how the uncouth rider could remain on his horse in a gallop. Reginald threw open the window; and as the strange–looking figure caught a sight of him, the steed was urged yet faster, and the broad–brimmed hat was waved in token of recognition.

“Now Heaven be praised!” exclaimed Reginald aloud: “’tis Gregson the mate!” He turned towards his sister: the blood had fled from her cheeks and lip, her hands were clasped together, and she whispered, in a voice scarcely articulate, “Heaven be merciful!”

“Nay, Lucy,” said her sanguine brother, “why this grief? are you not glad that The Pride is returned?”

“Oh, Reginald!” said Lucy, looking on him reproachfully through the tears which now streamed from her eyes. “Think you that if he had been alive and well, he would have allowed another to come here before him! Go and speak to the man—I cannot see him—you will return and tell me all.”

Reginald felt the reproof, and, kissing her affectionately, hastened from the room.

Who shall attempt to lift the veil from Lucy’s heart during the suspense of the succeeding minutes? It is fortunate for human nature, that at such a moment the mind is too confused to be conscious of its own sufferings: the mingled emotions of hope and fear, the half–breathed prayer, the irresistible desire to learn, contending with the dread of more assured misery,—all these unite in producing that agony of suspense which it is impossible to describe in words, and of which the mind of the sufferer can scarcely realise afterwards a distinct impression.

After a short absence, Reginald returned, and said to his sister, “Lucy, Ethelston is not here, but he is alive and safe.”

She hid her face in her brother’s breast, and found relief in a flood of grateful tears. As soon as Lucy had recovered her composure, her brother informed her of Ethelston’s captivity, and of the serious, though not dangerous, wounds that he had received; but he mingled with the narration such warm praises of his friend’s heroic defence of the brig, and so many sanguine assurances of his speedy release and return, that her fears and her anxiety were for a time absorbed in the glow of pride with which she listened to the praises of her lover’s conduct, and in the anticipation of soon having his adventures from his own lips. The faithful mate received a kind welcome from the Colonel, and though the latter had sustained a severe loss in the brig, he viewed it as a misfortune for which no one could be blamed; and directed all his anxiety and his inquiries to the condition of Ethelston, whom he loved as his own son.

“Depend on’t, Colonel,” said Gregson, “he’ll come to no harm where is he; for L’Estrange is a fine old fellow, and Master Ethelston saved his son’s neck from my cutlass. I was cuttin’ at him in downright airnest, for my dander was up; and you know, Colonel, a man a’nt particular nice in a deck scurry like that!”

“And what made him so anxious to save the youngster?” inquired the Colonel.

“Why I s’pose he thought the day was our own, and the lieutenant too smart a lad to be roughly handled for naught; but the young mad–cap put a pistol–ball into his arm by way of thanks.”

“Well, and did Ethelston still protect him?”

“Ay, sir, all the same. I’ve served with a number of captains o’ one sort or other, smugglers, and slave cruisers, and old Burt, that the Cuba pirates used to call Gunpowder Jack, but I will say I never saw a better man than Ethelston step a deck, whether it’s ‘up stick and make sail,’ or a heavy gale on a lee–shore, or a game at long bowls, or a hammer–away fight at yard–arm to yard–arm, it’s all one to our skipper, he’s just as cool, and seems as well pleased, as when it’s a free breeze, a clear sea, and Black Cupid has piped to dinner.”

“He is a gallant young fellow,” said the Colonel, brushing a little moisture from the corner of his eye; “and we will immediately take all possible measures for his liberation, both by applying, through Congress, for his exchange, and by communicating with the French agents at New Orleans.”

The conversation was protracted for some time; and after its termination, the mate having satisfied himself that the Mooshanne cider had lost none of its flavour, and that Monsieur Perrot’s flask contained genuine cognac, returned in high spirits to Marietta.

The preparations for Reginald’s expedition now went briskly forward, as the business which the Colonel wished him to transact with the trading companies on the Mississippi did not admit of delay. A large canoe was fitted out at Marietta, capable of containing sixteen or eighteen persons, and possessing sufficient stowage for the provisions and goods required: the charge of it was given to an experienced voyageur, who had more than once accompanied Baptiste in his excursions to the Upper Mississippi and the Great Lakes; he was a steady determined man, on whose fidelity reliance might be placed, and well calculated, from the firmness of his character, to keep in order the rough and sturdy fellows who formed his crew. Born and bred in that wild border region which now forms the State of Michigan, the woods, rapids, and lakes had been familiar to him from his childhood; unlike most of his tribe, he was singularly grave and taciturn; he always wore a bearskin cap, and, whether in his bateau, his canoe, or his log–hut, his bed was of the same material, so that he was known only by the name of “Bearskin;” his paternal appellation, whatever it might have been originally, having become altogether obsolete and unknown. His crew consisted of four stout fellows, who, like most of the Indian borderers, were as skilful in the use of the paddle on the river as in that of the rifle on the land. Among them was the gigantic form of Mike Smith, before mentioned in this narrative; all these were engaged by the Colonel, at a liberal salary, for six months, which was to be proportionately increased if they were detained in his service for a longer period. It was also settled that Monsieur Gustave Perrot should take his passage in the canoe; and to his care were entrusted the Indian presents, clothes, and other articles, which were his master’s own property. Reginald had resolved to cross the territory on horseback, accompanied by Baptiste, and he therefore meant to carry with him only such arms, and other articles, as were likely to be required on the journey.

The orders given to Bearskin were, to make the best of his way to St. Louis, and having delivered the letters with which he was entrusted, there to await Reginald’s arrival. The cargo of the canoe consisted chiefly (with the exception of a full supply of arms and provisions) of powder, cutlery, clothes of various colours, paints, mirrors, and a great variety of beads. Her equipment was soon completed, and she left Marietta amid the cheers of the crowd assembled on the wooden pier in front of David Muir’s store, the latter observing to our old friend the mate, who stood at his elbow, “I’m thinking, Maister Gregson, they chaps will hae eneugh o’ the red–skin deevils, an’ fur–huntin’ amongst a wheen wild trappers and daft neer–do–weels ayont the Mississippi! Weel a weel, ye maun just step ben and tak’ a stoup o’ cognac to the success o’ Bearskin and his crew.”

Although there was much in the merchant’s harangue that was like Greek or Hebrew to the mate, the closing invitation being adapted as well to his comprehension as to his inclination, he expressed a brief but cheerful acquiescence, and the worthy couple entered the house together. As soon as they were seated in the parlour, Jessie placed on the table some excellent corn–cakes and cheese, together with the before–mentioned cognac, and busied herself with even more than her wonted alacrity, to offer these good things to the father of the youth towards whom she entertained, as we have said, a secret but very decided partiality. She carried her hospitality so far as to bring a bottle of old madeira from David’s favourite corner in the cellar, which she decanted with great dexterity, and placed before the mate. The jolly tar complimented the merchant, after his own blunt fashion, both on the excellence of his liquor, and the attractions of his daughter, saying, in reference to the latter, “I can tell you, Master Muir, that I hold Jessie to be as handsome and as handy a lass as any in the territory. If I were twenty years younger, I should be very apt to clap on all sail, and try to make a prize of her!”

At this moment his son entered from the store, under the pretext of speaking to David about the sale of some goods, but with the object of being for a few minutes near to Jessie. He had never spoken to her of love, being afraid that his suit would certainly be rejected by her parents, who, from their reputed wealth, would doubtless expect to marry their daughter to one of the principal personages in the commonwealth of Marietta. As he entered, his eyes encountered those of Jessie, who was still blushing from the effect of the compliment paid to her by his father.

“Harry, my boy,” shouted the mate, “you are just come in time; I have filled a glass of David’s prime 84, and you must give me a toast! Now, my lad, speak up; heave a–head!”

“Father, I am ashamed of you!” replied the youth, colouring. “How can you ask for another toast when Miss Jessie’s standing at your elbow?”

“The boy’s right,” said the sailor, “and he shall drink it, too; shan’t he, David?”

“I’m thinking ye’ll no need to ask him twice. Jessie, hand the lad a glass!”

At her father’s bidding she brought another glass from the cupboard; and in giving it to young Gregson, one or other of them was so awkward, that, instead of it, he took her hand in his; and although he relinquished it immediately, there was a pressure, unconscious perhaps, but so distinctly perceptible to Jessie, that she blushed still deeper, and felt almost relieved by hearing her name called from the store in the loudest key of her mother’s shrill voice, while it was repeated yet more loudly by the honest mate, who gave the toast as she left the room, “Here’s Jessie Muir,—a long life, and a happy one, to her!”

Henry Gregson drank the madeira, but he scarcely knew whether it was sweet or sour, for his blood still danced with the touch of Jessie’s hand; and setting down the glass, he returned abruptly to the store, whether in the hope of stealing another look at her, or to enjoy his own reflections on the last few minutes, the reader may determine for himself.

The mate and the merchant continued their sitting until the bottle of madeira was empty, and the flask of cognac was considerably diminished: and although their conversation was doubtless highly interesting, and worthy of being listened to with the greatest attention, yet, as it did not bear immediately upon the events of our narrative, we will leave it unrecorded amongst the many other valuable treasures of a similar kind which are suffered day by day to sink into oblivion.

M. Perrot being now fairly under way, and having taken with him all the articles required by Reginald for his Indian expedition, our hero resolved no longer to delay his own departure, being about to encounter a very tedious land journey before he could reach St. Louis, and being also desirous of performing it by easy marches, in order that Nekimi might arrive at the Osage hunting–camp fresh, and ready for any of those emergencies in which success might depend upon his strength and swiftness. Baptiste was now quite in his element; and an early day being fixed for their departure, he packed the few clothes and provisions which they were likely to require on the journey, in two capacious leather bags, which were to be slung across the rough hardy nag which had accompanied him on more than one distant expedition, and he was soon able to announce to Reginald that he was ready to start at an hour’s notice.

The parting of our hero from his family was somewhat trying to his firmness; for poor Lucy, whose nerves were much affected by her own sorrows, could not control her grief. Aunt Mary also shed tears, whilst, mingled with her repeated blessings, and excellent counsel, she gave him several infallible recipes for the cure of cuts, bruises, and the bite of rattlesnakes. The Colonel squeezed his hand with concealed emotion, and bid him remember those whom he left behind, and not incur any foolish risk in the pursuit of amusement, or in the excitement of Indian adventure. But it was in parting with his mother that his feelings underwent the severest trial, for her health had long been gradually declining; and although she evinced the resigned composure which marked her gentle uncomplaining character, there was a deep solemnity in her farewell benediction, arising from a presentiment that they might not meet again on this side of the grave. It required all the beauty of the scenery through which he passed, and all the constitutional buoyancy of his spirits, to enable Reginald to shake off the sadness which crept over him, when he caught from a rising ground the last glimpse of Mooshanne; but the fresh elasticity of youth ere long prevailed, and he ran his fingers through the glossy mane that hung over Nekimi’s arching crest, anticipating with pleasure the wild adventures by flood and field that they would share together.

Reginald wore the deer–skin hunting–suit that we have before described: his rifle he had sent with the canoe, the bugle was slung across his shoulders, a brace of horse–pistols were in the holsters, and a hunting–knife hanging at his girdle completed his equipment. The sturdy guide was more heavily armed; for besides his long rifle, which he never quitted, a knife hung on one side of his belt, and at the other was slung the huge axe which had procured him the name by which he was known among some of the tribes; but in spite of these accoutrements, and of the saddle–bags before mentioned, his hardy nag paced along with an enduring vigour that would hardly have been expected from one of so coarse and unpromising an exterior; sometimes their way lay through the vast prairies which were still found in the states of Indiana and Illinois; at others among dense woods and rich valleys, through which flowed the various tributaries that swell Ohio’s mighty stream, the guide losing no opportunity of explaining to Reginald as they went all the signs and secret indications of Indian or border wood–craft that occurred. They met with abundance of deer, and at night they made their fire; and, having finished their venison supper, camped under the shelter of some ancient oak or sycamore. Thus Reginald’s hardy frame became on this preliminary journey more inured to the exposure that he would have to undergo among the Osages and Delawares of the Far–west: they fell in now and then with straggling bands of hunters and of friendly Indians, but with no adventures worthy of record; and thus, after a steady march of twenty days, they reached the banks of the Mississippi, and crossed in the ferry to St. Louis.